


Ruin and Reunion

by utsu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 07:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12978828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utsu/pseuds/utsu
Summary: When he was just a boy, he wanted nothing more than to explore the stars. Now, he slept alongside them every night, curled in their embrace, and he spoke their name into the quiet air between them.





	Ruin and Reunion

When Shiro was just a boy, he had big dreams. He wanted to explore the universe, reach the stars. Years passed, and his dreams never changed. He wanted to touch the stars. He wanted to expand his understanding of existence. When he sat idle, it was the stars he looked to. He was always looking up, a disposition so many had praised him for throughout his academy years. He was always the optimist.

It was difficult to be optimistic when the universe gave him a taste of his dreams only to chew him up, and spit him out. It was nearly impossible to come out of enslavement and torture unscathed. Sometimes he thought he would never again feel completely whole. He’d lost so much more than an arm, then.

But he never, not once, lost Keith.

When the demons of doubt and anxiety crawled towards him, shadowed and vacuous, a gentle hand would curl around his shoulder, pressing just enough to chase them all away. Shiro learned to turn into that comfort, the warmth and promise of those fingers. He bloomed under the kindness in the eyes staring back at him, heavy-lidded and adoring. He shied away from the smiles pressed against his cheek, his jaw, his throat; he tried not to laugh and he failed.

“Don’t hold back,” Keith would whisper against him, his teeth grazing Shiro’s skin as he smiled. Shiro knew the shape and feel of Keith’s hands better than he knew anyone else’s, including his own. “I like to hear you laugh.”

It took Shiro almost too long to realize that Keith looked at him with more than just admiration, but with open fondness, charmed and at times almost hungry. He knew that Keith had looked up to him as a pilot, and he still thought he had him a bit on a pedestal. Recently, it had become a game of sorts, between them; Shiro humbling himself—trying to get Keith to see that there wasn’t anything particularly special about him beyond his ability to take charge in rare but despairing moments—and Keith fervently building him back up with his bright eyes and his eager tongue, telling stories of all the feats Shiro had done, the lessons and demons he’d conquered and which Keith had grown up admiring.

Keith was competitive. An understatement, but no less true. He had a way of winning, and always getting what he wanted.

And Shiro, well. He tried to be a gracious loser. It was easy to lose, when the stakes were so low; no one’s life was on the line, no species or race in danger of extinction. No galaxy balanced on the edge of peace and war, tipping towards the latter.

With Keith, everything was so unbelievably easy. Keith was straightforward and physical, passionate and always in pursuit. Shiro was more reserved, still uncertain and a little confused as to why Keith would ever want someone like him. Damaged. Broken. It wasn’t only his arm he had lost; his mind wasn’t the same anymore. It was fractured, jagged. Sometimes he shattered and it was all he could do to even gather up the pieces. And yet—

Keith was always there, at his side, his fingers beside Shiro’s, gathering up the mess. Helping piece him back together, despite the way the ragged pieces of Shiro’s memories and stability cut into his skin. No matter how many times Shiro fractured, Keith was there with gentle hands, his kind smile. He’d pull Shiro back against him, wrap his arms around him. He’d rest his lips against the wing of Shiro’s shoulder, press kisses against the heat of his skin.

He was stars; bright and distant and so eye-catching. He was more powerful than he seemed, slim and lithe as he was; he was punctures in the shadowed realms they co-existed in, letting in the light, bringing down the darkness. Shiro didn’t deserve him, but he pushed back against Keith’s chest and he let himself be held. He felt Keith’s palms against his bare skin and reached to hold them there, his head bowing, feeling Keith’s lips at his nape. The scars on Shiro’s body itched, constant reminders of just a slice of the trauma he’d experienced at the hands of the Galra.

And yet Keith was gentle. He held him in silence and let him catch his breath after each and every shattering. He gave so much of himself and Shiro didn’t understand why.

He’d learned not to ask anymore, though. Keith was protective of Shiro to the extent that he didn’t hesitate to protect Shiro even from himself. He didn’t accept Shiro’s self-deprecation or his doubt. He bolstered in him a new kind of confidence, one borne of absolute and unquestionable love.

He loved him.

When he was just a boy, he wanted nothing more than to explore the stars. Now, he slept alongside them every night, curled in their embrace, and he spoke their name into the quiet air between them.

“Keith,” he would say, and the light that glimmered in Keith’s eyes just by hearing Shiro say his name was a cruelty and a reward wrapped in the same ambiguous packaging. He would say it again, and again. “Keith.”

He didn’t understand what Keith saw in him that was worthy of love, but Keith’s passion and unfailing affection were undeniable. He couldn’t trust himself to keep it together, to not fall apart, but he could trust this: Keith loved him, broken body and shattered soul. He loved him.

No matter how desperately Shiro tried to ground himself, he was destined for those fluctuating stars. They danced in Keith’s eyes. They moved through his skin when he reached out and touched Shiro’s jaw, his chin.

When he was just a boy, he reached for the stars.

He never even dreamed that one day, they’d reach back.

 

✧✧✧

 

“You have to go,” he shouted, as the world around him crumbled. The ground beneath his feet bisected, fracturing, hairlines spreading. Several hundred feet off, a rock face finally gave way, shattering into massive boulders that tumbled and crashed through the ground. They left craters in their wake. “They’re coming for me, Keith, and I won’t be the reason you get hurt!”

“Sucks,” Keith replied through gritted teeth, pushing forward until his hands could curl around Shiro’s chest, his fingertips pressing against his shoulder blades. Shiro heard screaming, sharp and hoarse, vocal cords tearing. “Because I’m not leaving you.”

“Keith,” Shiro implored, speaking through his teeth. The sky flashed red—not sunrise or sunset red but crimson, scarlet, the deep red that bled from Shiro’s arm. What had happened to his arm? The high-pitched whirring of machines coiled around them, and Shiro twitched in each direction, his neck straining. Rain began to fall, droplet of blood staining his skin. He heard the screaming again, louder this time, closer, and felt Keith’s fingertips pressing against him with bruising force. Keith dragged one hand up and grasped Shiro by his nape, pulling his head down until his face rested against the cove between Keith’s shoulder and throat.

“Shiro,” Keith breathed, aiming for soothing and missing only just enough for Shiro to catch the tremor of alarm in his voice. “Shiro, stay with me. I’m here. I’m not leaving you. I’m here. Shiro.”

“Run,” Shiro gasped, realizing suddenly that he couldn’t breathe. He dropped to his knees and his weight dragged Keith down with him, until his knees scraped against the solid ground. He saw ships approaching, Galra already on the ground. They had shackles in their hands—not their wrists, but aiming for his—and they were getting closer. The machines continued to scream and that shredded voice whirred and everything blurred at the edges until—

Keith’s hands on his face, pulling him away just enough so that he could meet his eyes. Frantic, wide and more alarmed than Shiro had seen them in a long, long time. Keith said his name and Shiro couldn’t hear him. His eyes fell to Keith’s lips, watched the way they formed his name, hanging on by a thread. Fear was a physical force pushing him to the Earth, bowing his shoulders, driving a heel into his nape. Everything else was lost to the screaming, the whirring, the shackles and the ships. Space was huge, too, wasn’t it? It was so huge Shiro felt the sudden and absolute truth of his own expendability. He couldn’t focus. The world was quaking beneath him, around him, the sky raining red and darkening as breath was pulled from his lungs by invisible fingers and there was Keith’s lips, Shiro’s name, indistinguishable promises.

(Shiro. Can you hear me? I’m here.)

Whenever he was this close—with Keith’s hands on his skin, holding him, refusing to let go—he marveled at the undercurrent of blues hidden in the grays of Keith’s eyes. What a beautiful discovery, Shiro thought dizzily, a treasure only he had ever had the privilege of finding. Being allowed to find. Keith was so purposefully closed off to everyone and anyone, except—except—

(It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe. Shiro. Shiro.)

“Why won’t they stop screaming?” Shiro asked, finding his voice, finding his breath, feeling off balance without his arm. He felt wetness on his cheeks, lifted his fingers and found tears under his prints. Keith’s lip trembled, and Shiro only noticed because he was so incredibly close, but it was a brief thing, Keith’s uncertainty. He steeled himself right before Shiro’s eyes, clenched his jaw and closed his eyes as he leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, holding them steady with care and touch and intent. He didn’t answer Shiro’s question, and the world continued to deconstruct around him. The ground gave way and the glare of lasers shot through the sky. The ships landed; the shackles were close enough that Shiro could smell the iron.

“Run,” he said unconsciously, distracted by the looming presence casting a shadow over them. It fell on Shiro, he noticed, but not on Keith. Even though he was close enough. Even though they were pressed together. He remembered the reason for the word, the insistency; the shackles, the Galra—evil and treacherous, not like Keith, never like Keith who was good and strong and kind and touched Shiro with gentle hands and warm lips and never, ever let him stay broken—and he found his voice through the wasteland of his focus just in time to shout, “Keith, run! I can’t—protect you. I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

Keith’s lips tasted like honey, from the toasted bagels he usually ate before bed. Shiro gasped under them for a moment before pushing back, reciprocating Keith’s kiss with equal passion even as he was distracted. Keith was not distracted. He kissed Shiro with purpose, feeling him out, exploring slowly and carefully as though they had all the time in the world. As though the world beneath and around them wasn’t currently devolving, breaking down and crumbling. Keith kissed him like he had time. His honeyed lips moved carefully over Shiro’s buttom lip, tugging playfully as he was like to do, and Shiro thought oh, I know this. I know this.

When he began to really kiss back, the explosions and the clanking of the shackles began to quiet. His focus turned entirely to Keith, and all he could do was allow himself to be thoroughly kissed and adored. Keith’s hands stayed on his cheeks, his fingertips pressing gently against Shiro’s ears. He felt Keith’s fingers trail over the shell of one of his ears, taking exploring to a new level, and he shivered. Gradually, the explosions shifted from background noise to absolute silence. The screaming had stopped. The Galra breathing over his shoulder was gone, as was the shadow looming over him. The rain had stopped.

Shiro allowed himself to be kissed and felt strong enough to lift his hands—both hands—up to cradle Keith’s face. Shiro found his breathing and mellowed the pattern with a conscious mind slowly clearing. After a gulf was carved between the chaos and Keith’s gentle ministrations, his pleading lips, Shiro opened his eyes and studied the tension that pursed Keith’s eyebrows together. His eyes remained closed until Shiro gently pushed a finger against the wrinkled skin between Keith’s eyebrows. His eyes opened instantly, flicking between Shiro’s searching for what had to be clarity of mind.

Shiro’s throat ached. His chest felt too full of air and yet simultaneously…hollow. Keith kissed him once more, gentle enough to break Shiro’s heart, and pulled back just a breath. He rubbed their lips together only enough to just barely feel them, the space so scant a butterfly’s wings couldn’t have fit between them, before he pulled back completely. He lifted his left hand and ran his fingers through Shiro’s hair, brushing it away from his sweaty face. Keith leaned in again and closed his eyes, kissing Shiro’s lips as a comfort—Shiro didn’t know whose.

“Keith,” he breathed, and his voice was torn, ragged and grating. This was not the first panic attack he had ever had. It wouldn’t be the last. But he recognized it, now. The only world that had crumbled had been his own, inside his mind. His vocal cords, his fears, his sweat-soaked brow. Keith kneeling in front of him, holding him together with hands and lips and unconditional love. “I’m—”

“Don’t,” Keith interrupted, not without kindness. His voice was soft, and Shiro remembered the way his lips had trembled. Shiro remembered the stricken faces of people in the throes of panic from his time during enslavement. He’d been in Keith’s position before, but with complete strangers. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to have to see a loved one going through that kind of soul-slicing panic, and couldn’t. He couldn’t even imagine. He looked at Keith and he felt new tears beginning to form. He reached back with one hand and pinched at his eyes, laughing even as a sob slipped through. Keith quietly said, “Don’t apologize.”

But he wanted to. He felt like he had to. How could he continue to put Keith through this—having to watch him fall apart over and over again, right when they think he’s finally whole. The amount of times he’d bared his soul to Keith, shy and feeling unworthy even as his confidence was bolstered by the depth of his love for the former red and black paladin. In private, intimate moments with only the stars overhead and between them, Shiro had told him the truth.

That Keith made him feel whole again. That the only time he felt truly and absolutely himself was when Keith was there by his side. The world was a dark and scary place, massive and mysterious, but with Keith there Shiro felt like he could go on living without bending to the will of fear. How could he, when Keith was so incredibly strong on his own? Sometimes he looked at Keith and felt like the wind was knocked out of him, for how striking he was. There wasn’t a challenge or foe in the universe that could scare Keith away.

A system of galaxies and universes and somehow, somehow, Keith had fallen in love with him. That wasn’t nothing. Keith was a man of many firsts, when it came to Shiro.

It was Keith who found him; Keith who chased him; Keith who held him; Keith who loved him.

It was Keith, who he loved in return.

“It was worse this time,” he admitted gruffly, offering his sincerest honesty without any more hesitation. He wasn’t afraid anymore—not of this. Keith loved him; broken, whole, leader, loner. Keith didn’t care about the labels or the fear. He simply followed his heart and acted, and that, Shiro thought warmly, was something he could admire. That was something he could aspire to mirror.

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, still studying Shiro’s expression. “But you got through it.”

“Because of you.” Shiro smiled, tracing a thumb over Keith’s lips. “Not the first method I would’ve considered, but damned if it wasn’t effective.”

Keith grinned, surefire and smug. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Shiro laughed, and it hurt, leading to a choking spell before he gained composure again. He shook his head, still smiling, and rasped, “Too well.”

Keith eyed him a moment longer before moving forward, pressing his forehead against Shiro’s cheekbone long enough to take a deep breath, and release it. When he pulled back the tension eased out of his strong shoulders and his smile felt easier, comforted and relieved. He brushed Shiro’s hair away from his face again and Shiro copied the gesture, tucking Keith’s longer hair behind his ear. He brushed his thumb over Keith’s earlobe and quietly said, “Thank you.”

Keith turned his face into the palm of Shiro’s hand and rested there, his eyes growing heavy-lidded. He made sure Shiro was looking at him before he nodded, his expression shadowed with the moonlight coming from behind him. The titanium of the ship beneath their knees was starting to hurt enough to draw Shiro’s attention, so he shifted to his feet and helped Keith up along with him. Keith made short work of sliding his fingers through Shiro’s prosthetic fingers, holding his hand and tugging slightly as he headed for the kitchen.

Shiro followed a step after him, feeling strangely disconnected from his own body. A moment ago he’d been in the depths of panic, convinced the world was going to end—his world was going to end—and he was going to drag Keith down with him. It was this thought that constantly haunted him; it never left him. He refused, refused to be the reason Keith got injured, or captured, or worse. He would not allow it. They both knew that the reason the Galra continued to find them was because somewhere in the tech they’d installed in Shiro, there was a tracker. They both knew it, and though Shiro had tried countless times to separate himself from Keith, it proved impossible.

Keith always found him. And now that he had him, and he loved him, Shiro found himself reluctant to run again. It felt fruitless. Keith would find him, no matter where he was. Even if he was in an unknown galaxy, on the smallest world’s tiniest spot of land. Keith would find him, because he loved him. If the situation was reversed, Shiro would do the exact same thing. He would never stop looking, never give up on finding Keith no matter where he was.

So he stopped running. He listened to his heart and he settled in with Keith and let himself love someone enough to know that losing them would hurt just as much as losing himself already had. More, he thought, as he watched Keith’s shoulder blades shift under the fabric of his muscle tee.

But just because he’d stopped running didn’t mean he wasn’t going to torment himself about that decision. His every moment with him put Keith at further risk, and that was as unacceptable as it was treacherous. It haunted him, and Keith knew it. He didn’t accept it, however. Keith just wouldn’t. He would rather be at risk with Shiro than absolutely and totally safe elsewhere. And that, truly, rocked Shiro to the core.

He followed Keith’s every step, though his strides were longer, his steps fewer. He squeezed Keith’s fingers once, comfortingly, and felt them squeeze back. Keith glanced over his shoulder with a slice of a grin over his jaw, and said, “I made honey bagels.”

Shiro grinned, touched his own lips and thought I love you. He said, “I know.”

Keith smiled, turned back towards the kitchen. Kept Shiro’s hand in his own. Held them together with his own indomitable strength, and the strength that comes from loving someone without hesitation or doubt.

And Shiro followed him, step for step, and found home in him again.

And again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
